


blooming out your chest and spine, tame the flora with your eyes

by unlit_day



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Based on a Dream, Confusing, M/M, No Smut, florababy!tyler, i really want someone to beta me, idk sorry, josh is made of water but its weird, josh is the one marching not tyler, tyler is like stuck in the ground????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlit_day/pseuds/unlit_day
Summary: Josh can't ever think for himself, always having the next person do it for him. His eyes dart back and forth, anxious, keening, waiting for the storms to end that never truly do. He is the water.Tyler is paranoid. His hands are shaking, his lips are chapping, he can't breathe, because the flowers inside of him are pushing up through the soil of his esophagus, blooming out his chest and lungs to quench their wilting leaves and stems, his mouth is flooded with flowers and his fingers and tangled with thorns. All they want is water. All he wants is love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk, i was just thinking bc im planning a multi-chapter fic, but like
> 
> i get easily distracted
> 
> sorry

Josh can't ever think for himself, always having the next person do it for him. His eyes dart back and forth, anxious, keening, waiting for the storms to end that never truly do. He's following behind the man marching closest in his line of vision, cloudy white things like angry desert sand blowing up into his eyes, dunes of little pale beings floating across his world. 

The rain is pouring, then, trickling down his cheeks and dripping off the shells of his ears, washing away his thoughts. The outer skeleton of his skin protects his feeble mind from the grabby claws of the droplets that crave so greatly to swallow him whole, turn him into his own person as one with the water in the sky, and there's no imprimatur that he left behind to show that he can have an idea of his own for once.

He relies solely and purely on his fate by the word of the superior to him, and inferior. Every action he does is archived and remembered by other's but lost on himself, too distracted by the miles in front of him, too busy decaying with each unimportant step he takes towards the sea. He looks left and right but he continues in the line on his way to the final destination, his own personally promised Constantine. Where is he going, again? He doesn't remember. He doesn't look up anymore out of fear he might bend over backward from the impact of every angry, disappointed, uncomfortable word he ever heard from them. But he still can't do anything about it because he doesn't have any cognitive thoughts. He is the water.

Tyler is paranoid. His hands are shaking, his lips are chapping, he can't breathe, because the flowers inside of him are pushing up through the soil of his esophagus, blooming out his chest and lungs to quench their wilting leaves and stems, his mouth is flooded with flowers and his fingers and tangled with thorns. He can't talk, he can't eat, he can't drink or smile or frown or do anything because all of his self-deprecation bloomed into a thousand poisoned roses. All they want is water. All he wants is love. 

But the utter emotion he has in his head is stopping him, the fear of being rejected and overruled. He whips his head around because he is free internally and wants to be released from his prison of petals. He watches the marchers follow forward, falling in line and falling apart, emotionless and brainless in their own captivity of anhedonia. Then, he catches sight of someone, with condensation tickling the landscape of his exposed skin. Eyes brown like the dead soil resting in Tyler's stomach, but this soil is doused. 

His eyes flicker to the left and he locks gazes with someone left on the side, seemingly grounded into the thick tan sand that blankets the delicate body of the Earth. Tyler feels his rows of roses draw back from the sockets of his eyes, slither back into his ears, stalks tip-toe into his throat and slide into his heart where they belong; his perennials have been paralyzed. 

Josh knows his water is drowning itself in doses, letting it sink back into his skin and soak up with a towel of efflorescence. He is free. He can move. He walks towards the male with the flora-ridden limbs and feels the thorns dig into his skin.

"My friend," he asks, "what is your goal?"

"To be free," responds Tyler. "I wish to be free and to be loved." 

Josh thinks about this. "Well, I shall free you then. In return, you must nurse me back to health. I am much too watery and need to be drained." 

The other's eyes narrowed as he contemplated. He could be free, this male could water and tame his wildflowers, but he'd have to make an effort as well. He knows he is selfish, but he is so weak. His flora curls around the other's arms, watching him closely and judging his soul. Although he looked sketchy, his heart seemed true. 

Josh eyes watered, but this is normal, as they are made of little pools containing infinite amounts of pure water. The male blinked once, for the first time, and now they watered out of fear. What happens when he loses his water? Where does he go? What does he do, if he leaves the marching line? 

"Yes. I will help you." Tyler states, bulbs of flowers shivering with his minimal movement; he is so dearly fragile; so dearly endearing. Awareness is key, he knows, and aware he is. 

Josh saunters warily towards Tyler and wraps the thorns on his arms to pull him up without harming him. Tyler allows himself to be picked up and dragged off into the valley off the path of the desert sand, to be taken under safety's wing. 

Josh travels not far before stumbling across a run-down place akin to a hospital and makes his way inside. After a flight of stairs, there is a long corridor leading into a village of empty, melancholic rooms. The male cautiously sets Tyler on the bed of the third room, the one with the coziest blankets and most-welcoming vibe. 

"What do I start with?" Josh asks the male on the sheets. This is the first he has truly spoken, and he has a silent hope that Tyler will also speak.

"Anything, but water is your best bet." Tyler's voice is appropriately raspy, resembling the sound of a long-time smoker that goes through eight deadly packs a day. Though Josh knows this is not the cause; it is simply the result of the angry, parched earth resting in his lungs. 

Josh lifts his hand to Tyler's face and goes limp. He does not think, he does not move, he does not blink, and barely breathes. The water seeps from his palm and is immediately absorbed into Tyler's skin to turn soft and lull his hostile vines. 

Red flourishes under his touch, swirls of pinks and whites intertwining with the apples of his cheeks. Josh is growing tired within ten minutes and drearily dropping his hand. 

"Thank you, friend," Tyler says. 

"My pleasure," Josh slurs. 

Tyler decides it's his turn to help out a bit, drawing his stems in. Standing from the bed, he switches places with Josh, who is surprisingly dry to the touch. Josh hums gratefully, eyes sliding closed with the grace of a flowing stream.

He is content.

They are content. At least, they are for now.


	2. who knows about us?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk i was just like "ok". also, based off the song "beach life-in-death" by car seat headrest. also, the thing tyler wrote was a thing i wrote rip my heart

About four hours later, Josh wakes up to Tyler petting the air, possibly petting his flowers, cuddling the newly-thriving petals close to his chest. Josh watches without intruding; he doesn’t want to make Tyler uncomfortable and potentially scare away a new ally. The first ally he would ever have. 

Tyler knows Josh is awake. He doesn’t say anything because he knows the other will feel bad that he watched, even if Tyler was perfectly okay with it. His pooling eyes flicker shut as Tyler’s gaze walks up to his. Tyler smirks at the embarrassed reaction he gets from the boy, raising his eyebrows.

“I know you were watching,” he bluntly says.

“I’m sorry,” Josh stumbles over his guilt in the form of his words. 

"You're fine. Don't worry about it," Tyler assures him. He doesn't want the male to feel guilty. He has no reason to; he did nothing wrong, he was just curious. 

Josh sits up, tapping his foot against the cold wooden planks of the floor. Tyler looks at him, waiting for the other to speak. But he never did; instead, he looked Tyler in the eyes for a few beats too long, not looking away until Tyler shifted uncomfortably and broke his gaze. 

Josh continued staring at Tyler without care. Now his goal was to make him uncomfortable to have him speak his mind, knowing he wouldn't unless Josh pushed. 

"What now?" Tyler mumbled.

"Well, that's your choice. What do you want to do? Who do you want to be?" Josh challenged. Tyler looked down because he had no answer, but he always had an answer. What's different now? 

Josh seemed to understand that he wouldn't get a response because he just shook his head and went quiet as well, sitting in an uncomfortably violent silence. The day was gloomy and rained down onto the both of them. The air seemed to smell of upcoming winter, suffocating, familiar. Tyler knew this feeling like he knew there was a body attached to his head, considering there were flowers choking him 24/7. Josh needed to break it. 

"I hate this. My father; I remember him. He had a gambling addiction. He's who made me a marcher. He's who turned me into this useless lifeform, a simple friendly neighborhood waste of space. I get upset too easily, you know? I get depressed so easily, so anxious so easily... It's what gave me my water." Josh spits through gritted teeth. 

Tyler's eyes soften. This male could always find another place to grow. "Up until the camera was invented, people had never seen themselves with their eyes closed. I say this because that's a bit like how it is; everyone has a camera, but plenty of people haven't found it yet. The camera represents open-mindedness and awareness. Everyone has their eyes closed because they are not aware of how ignorant they truly are. When we say things like "depression isn't that bad, others have it worse," that's just what I mean. And about your father's addiction; it's like the lights you see when you close your eyes too tight, the bright ones that you see when you have a panic attack. It's almost calming, which is why he prefers to keep his eyes closed. I have always had my eyes open; I have to with how vulnerable I really am." He pauses a short. "I hope tomorrow doesn't come. I already know I'll lose myself. I'll lose my own reflection, never get to see myself again. The fact that I have these flowers in my lungs, the ones that no one else can see, makes me inferior."

Josh gapes, watching the way Tyler talks with his hands and speaks with such confidence in himself. He comes up with words and phrases so quickly that Josh can't keep up. "You are one of the most intelligent, quick-thinking, thought-inducing people I've ever met, and I've met a lot of people." He murmurs. 

"I had a strange dream," Tyler says with no context, cutting Josh off from his ogling. "It went a little something like this; last night I drove to Jenny's ferry, thinking of you, signs on the road warning me of the street lights. The speed limit decreased by 20 every half mile, and as I entered town about a third to the ferry, it was sprinkling at the train station." He stops, thinking. "I put my hood up on my head at the train station, and I threw rocks into the river, trying to learn to skip them, the river underneath the bridge. When the train came in it was so powerful that I wanted to slide my hands across it, but the conductor who had no face looked at me funny, which sounds stupid because like, he has no face, but I know he did." Tyler cuts off there. Josh waits a bit before asking if that's when the dream ended. 

"Of course not. I just thought I was boring you," Tyler admits. 

"No, not at all. I want to hear the rest," Josh stubbornly tells him. 

"Fine. Well, I said goodbye and left the train station, and I realized there was a monopoly board in my back seat. I took that terrible nightmare of a left turn and got out of town, ran into the decreasing speed limits again. I ate breakfast after the night ended, ate lunch, ate dinner, went to bed in my sleep, applied for a job when I woke up in the morning and then I went to a friend's house. I wrote a thing, then I went to bed again. The end."

"How did you remember all that word for word?" Josh asked him. 

"Not sure, don't ask me. But I actually left something out, that thing I wrote in my dream. I think that's what makes me remember it," Tyler states.

"Tell me what it was," Josh says. 

"O.K.," Tyler takes a deep breath. "Well, it starts like this: 'I’m sorry that I spoke to you; I promise I wasn't going to. it’s just, you look so pretty, and your vocabulary’s witty. I can’t help but fall; it happens to us all. But hey, what can I say? It happens every day. It should be anti-static, but I just feel asthmatic. I can’t stand sensations that feel like new relations. It must be why I tend to pick people I feel familiar with. But what do you want me to think? I hardly have any time to blink. I feel nauseous; I’m just always overly-cautious when it comes to people like you, because hey, it’s nothing new. It must seem preposterous that I came to you just like this. It might be uncomfortable that I act like I’m so comfortable. It might be appealing that we’re both so unappealing, it might send you reeling until you smash into the ceiling, but I always get out of hand. It's kind of dumb, and I understand but I can’t help but feel at ease compared to when the day is seized, but I can’t help being overly-cautious when it comes to people like you, because hey, it’s nothing new. I know that all my questions sound much more like suggestions and I know that all my language makes everyone at anguish. Just overly-cautious, can’t help it, it’s just what I do when it comes to people like you.' That's it."

"Woah." 

"Yeah. I'm sorry, it sucks. I shouldn't have made you listen-" 

"Shut up. That's the most wonderful thing anyone's ever done for me." Josh says. He is happy.

He is content.   
They are content. At least, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> why did you read that
> 
> if u wanna beta me, hmu im cool


End file.
